The leak hit at 9:00 a.m. sharp.
Evelyn watched from the upper deck of the strategy room as The Sentinel published a scathing exposé titled: The Hidden Empire of Rhys Kellan. The article didn't reveal everything—but it revealed enough. Shadow funding. Offshore laundering. Silent acquisitions in conflict zones.
The markets rippled, then trembled. Wolfe Global's stock dipped slightly—then rebounded.
Rhys's affiliated ventures? They plummeted.
By 11:00 a.m., federal regulators had issued inquiries.
By noon, three of Rhys's board supporters had withdrawn their alliance.
Wolfe stood at the center of it all—calm, composed, a man who had just fired a warning shot through the core of a corporate dynasty.
Evelyn stood beside him. Watching. Waiting.
"He'll strike back," she said quietly.
Wolfe nodded. "And he'll do it with teeth."
---
They returned to Wolfe's private floor by early evening, both running on caffeine and adrenaline. The fire was still burning, but they controlled the perimeter.
In his office, Evelyn reviewed internal damage reports. "Our legal team's in overdrive. PR's already spinning it as a preemptive cleanup from an old regime."
Wolfe leaned against the glass wall, arms folded. "And Rhys?"
She checked her phone. "Silent. But his private plane landed in D.C. this afternoon."
He looked out into the skyline. "He's moving to government contacts. Power players. He won't go down alone."
Evelyn crossed to him. "Then neither will we."
He glanced at her, something like gratitude—but deeper. Trust wrapped in steel.
"You were supposed to be a risk," he said softly. "A brilliant liability."
"And now?" she asked.
He reached for her hand. "Now you're my fireline."
She held on.
Neither of them looked away.
Outside, the city flared with late summer lightning—chaotic, furious, alive.
Inside, Wolfe and Evelyn stood unshaken.
Together.